Oh well, ni modo.
Gather your tears and boil them with your anger...

Night
you are dark...

Fears are vultures in the nights
soaring thirstily, and hungrily...

Do not throw more wood to that fire,..
Shhh...

...

In the kitchen-
Fingertips trace ashes splattered over counters...

He thinks he thinks the way I think:
in that... one must be open minded...

If it were for me,
I'd search between pages and pages...

I supposed that I'm nothing more than just a rose
some flower growing up a few thorns...

I always thought that my thoughts were my own
but more often than not...

people turn pale blue
when a guy at the register...

Through my hair glides fire and rain:
the misery my of days, my cries for help...